


I Can Make You a Believer

by bohemeyourself



Category: One Direction (Band), The Voice (Ireland) RPF
Genre: Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Oral Sex, Size Kink, this is all lo's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bohemeyourself/pseuds/bohemeyourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall and Bressie work out. Well, Bressie works out. Niall stares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Make You a Believer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hungerpunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungerpunch/gifts).



> Inspired by lo and her tags on [this post](http://bohemeyourself.tumblr.com/post/54126764219/niall-at-the-gym-have-another-version). NIALL IS SO AWFUL AND BRESSIE IS JUST HUGE AND I LOVE THEM, OKAY? 
> 
> ...warning for semi-public sex?
> 
>  
> 
> Title from Give Me Hope by New Politics

It’s an arms and chest day, which is quickly becoming Niall’s favorite day. Bressie’s working with free weights, doing bicep curls with dumbbells that look impossibly large. Niall literally cannot stop watching him. There are mirrors everywhere, and Bressie seems to take up an inhuman amount of space in the tiny weight room. 

Niall tears his eyes away from Bressie’s arms and back to the machine. His palms are sweating against the handles, making him slip on the next pull back, almost slamming the weights back down. 

“Woah, careful,” Bressie grunts out. Niall looks up, to apologize or something, and big mistake. Because Bressie’s lifting the weights over his head now, and Niall can’t tear his eyes away from the bunch and pull of muscle, the little patch of skin stretched over his serratus muscles, revealed by his tank top. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks it’s a little gross, to want to give in to the urge to press his face into Bressie’s armpit, to smell the sweat and musk and maleness there. 

Niall’s hands really do slip this time. Bressie chuckles. “Too heavy, little one?”

Niall flips him off, but blushes all the same. It’s better Bressie take the mickey than to have been caught staring, anyway. “Just hot in here, is all. My hands are all sweaty.” Niall’s skin sticks when he pulls away from the seat and the chest rest, or whatever the thing’s called. Shit, gym terminology. 

“Really? I would’ve thought you were distracted or something,” Bressie drops the weights back on the rack, and then sits on a nearby bench to prep for tricep dips.

Shit. “No,” Niall says, too quickly. Niall wonders why he ever agreed to start working out with Bressie in the first place, if it was going to get him into trouble like this. It was initially to spend more time with the dude, and if getting the chance to oogle all his carefully sculpted muscles, well. That was secondary. 

Now Niall’s just awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, watching Bressie do his tricep dips and trying very hard to make it look like he’s not watching the way his shorts ride up his thighs. 

“Are you finished?” Bressie asks, pushing back to sit up on the bench now. “I can finish this set and then...” 

“Oh! No, I’ll just...” Niall cuts him off, jumping, and he goes over to the rack of dumbbells.

“Niall,” Bressie says, and when Niall looks up, he’s right there behind him in the mirror. “Stop pretending,” He says, voice low. 

“What?” Niall really, sincerely hopes his voice doesn’t give him away. 

Bressie walks them forward, caging Niall in against the mirror. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t looking, Niall. I could feel your eyes on me the whole time.” Bressie presses forward, his front completely flush with Niall’s back, and - holy shit - Bressie is a wall of heat and muscle behind him. 

“Nrgh,” Niall gets out, pressing back into Bressie. “Was,” he says, and that was supposed to be followed by a challenge, something seductive in a “What are you gonna do about it?” kinda way, not the slutty sounding moan that does come out of Niall’s mouth when Bressie rolls his hips against Niall’s ass. 

“Shit,” Bressie says, dropping a hand from the mirror to pull Niall in by the hip, grind against him. Bressie ducks his head, mouths at Niall’s neck, just a hint of teeth, like a promise. Niall grinds back shamelessly. Bressie smiles against his skin.

“You little slut,” Bressie says, sliding his hand across Niall’s stomach to the waistband of his pants, waits for Niall to nod before continuing. “Coming in here with me under the pretense of getting fit,” 

Niall wonders where the hell he can pull words like pretense out of in a situation like this. “You’re the one, fuck, showing off,” Niall pants. 

Bressie get his hands into Niall’s pants and around his dick. Bressie’s hand is hot and huge and perfect, and Niall alternates between pushing into his fist and grinding back into where Bressie is definitely hard and rutting into Niall with little hitches of his hips. 

“Look at you,” Bressie says. “So easy, just letting me take you like this, right here.” Bressie jacks him faster, pushes his hips harder. “Look at yourself, Niall.”

Niall looks. He’s flushed all the way to his nipples, mouth red and open and slutty looking. The best part, though, is how Bressie surrounds him completely, taller and wider just bigger everywhere. Niall comes on a long groan, spilling over Bressie’s fist and into his shorts. 

Niall pants, his own hands against the mirror to help hold himself up. Bressie is still hard, still grinding against Niall is small little circles, and Niall reaches around and bats at him until he makes contact, grabbing at his hip.

“Let me,” Niall says, when he can speak again. He pushes, turning in the small space between Bressie and the mirror. “Let me,” he repeats, dropping to his knees and reaching for Bressie’s shorts. 

“Shit, yeah,” Bressie says, watching as Niall pulls his shorts and his pants down and gets a hand around his dick. Niall marvels at how hot and hard he is, head of his dick shiny with precum when he pulls the foreskin back. Niall’s mouth waters. 

“Such a pretty mouth,” Bressie says, tracing his thumb across Niall’s mouth. Niall wets his lips, tongue catching on the pad of Bressie’s thumb, before surging forward and taking Bressie’s dick into his mouth. The salty tang of him explodes on Niall’s tongue, and Niall pushes forward, getting as much of him in his mouth as he can. Niall wishes he could take it all, could deepthroat him, but he settles for using his hand on the rest, jacking him while he bobs his head. 

Bressie tangles his hands in Niall’s hair, not tugging, just resting, and Niall wants. Niall imagines Bressie spreading him out over a bed, bending him over any and everything and splitting him open, fucking him with fingers first and then his cock. It makes him moan around Bressie’s cock, and Bressie answers with a groan of his own and spills across Niall’s tongue, down his throat. 

Niall swallows the best he can, and then Bressie is hauling him to his feet, kissing him deep and filthy. Niall thinks he’s chasing the taste of himself on his tongue and his mind goes a little blank. 

When they break apart, Bressie stays bent, keeping their foreheads pressed together. “We are doing that again,” Bressie says. “Home, now.”

Niall nods. He’ll follow Bressie anywhere, after all.


End file.
